Pull The Trigger (Shatter My Heart)
by Cain the Silver Sin
Summary: It is not how he imagined their final showdown. Their own special reunion so to speak. Not at all. He has wanted him dead for so long. It'd be so easy to just pull the trigger once and finally be rid of the biggest lingering ghost of his past. But he can't.


Overwatch is sticking their noses where they don't belong, and both Reaper and Widowmaker are on the battlefield with several other Talon agents to push them back. The psychotic glee that runs through Reaper as his ears picks up on Jack Morrison's commanding voice is almost palpable, and even Widowmaker raises an eyebrow.  
Finally, the boy scout has come out of hiding and soon he will fall prey to death itself.  
He takes his time. Fighting several other Overwatch agents to build up an appetite before the final course. He has half a mind to pick them off one by one til only Jack is left, but they prove truly formidable. He'd be better off with trying to separate Jack from his group instead.

"No one can hide from my sight." Widowmaker's voice crackles through the comm before several shots can be heard.

"Merde! He got away, but I think I got in a few good hits. Reaper, mon cherie, he's all yours."

"Need someone to finish your job?" he taunts, voice icy and cruel. Widowmaker snorts.

"Hardly. I merely thought I'd leave the _commander_ to you, since you show such _keen interest_ in him." she replies sweetly. "But if you insist I chase him down and finish him off myself…"

"You don't move an inch, devil woman!" Reaper growls before disintegrating into an onyx haze, concentrating on a point in the distance where he had heard Widowmaker's shots bounce off the wall. _He_ is going to be there, he is sure of it.  
He materializes on top of a run down building, eyes immediately locking onto the blood trail painting the gravel. A good 20 metres from it lies a very familiar piece of combat gear; Jack's tactical visor. The pesky piece of crap that enables him to hit shit with inhuman accuracy. Reaper grins behind his mask. " _Oh how the tables have turned, Morrison."_  
He shadowsteps forwards onto a cluster of metal containers, landing without a sound, and finally locates his prey. Jack Morrison is on his knees on the ground, blood trickling from no more than 3 gunshot wounds in his legs. His breath is ragged and he moves his hands frantically as if searching for something. Most probably his precious Pulse Rifle.  
Reaper's pulse quickens as he cocks his guns, ready for combat, ready for a final showdown with Jack Morrison himself . The man who took everything from him, the man responsible for who he is now, the man who-

As he descends soundlessly like a wraith, in black smoke and shifting nanoparticles with guns aimed to do serious damage, Jack looks up at him-

and time just stops.

There's gunshots in the distance, bombs exploding, turrets firing, screams and shouts, but it's all suddenly so far away, muted in the little metaphorical bubble that has enveloped them.  
There's a Biotic Field down around Jack and it prickles on Reaper's skin, it itches and he wants to move away, but he can't tear his eyes away from the man before him.  
A memory of eyes as blue as the clear sky flashes through Reaper's mind. A memory buried so far in the back of his mind it was never supposed to see daylight again.  
A memory of blue eyes, looking at him with _fondness_. He swallows involuntarily.

Jack's eyes, are blank and gray. Jack is looking straight through him, as if he was a _ghost_.

Jack,

is blind.

The realization should realistically mean nothing to him, makes the man an even easier kill, but it is as if some unknown force slams him hard in the gut and he lowers his guns slowly.

It is not how he imagined their final showdown. Their own special reunion so to speak. Not at all.  
He has wanted him dead for so long. It'd be so easy to just pull the trigger once and finally be rid of the biggest lingering ghost of his past.

But he can't. He cannot bring himself to do it, and somewhere deep inside it makes him angry.

Conflicted with his own reactions he casts as glance at the tactical visor lying abandoned in the gravel. A quick two shadowsteps gets him the gear and back to Jack. There's a gradually building pressure in the back of his head, and his vision suddenly becomes blurry around the edges as several other memories comes forth unbidden.

All of them include Jack.

He groans quietly and it startles Jack. He can hear his frantic heartbeat and quickening pulse, ready to fight to the death with only his bare hands and gunshot wounds in his legs. He is not given the chance to fight, as Reaper shoves the visor into his hands, clasping his clawed hands around Jack's leather-clad ones. He holds them together for a few agonizing seconds as Jack's hollow stare looks right through him, before he shadowsteps away.  
From inside one of the dilapidated buildings he watches as Jack puts his visor back on and stumbles back up, quickly surveying the area as if he possessed an eagle's sight. He quickly locates his discarded Pulse Rifle and Reaper grits his teeth because now, now he is combat ready, it'd be the perfect time for a showdown. It-

So softly, almost inaudible, a whisper of a name carries on the wind and reaches Reaper's ears.

"Gabriel…?"

The pressure in his head intensifies and his heart thunders in his chest as he shadowsteps quickly back to Widowmaker's nest, calling for them to retreat. Widowmaker scowls but obeys, but not without slipping him some poisonous words.

"Next time you should leave the killing to the spider. A reaper who cannot fulfill his job is a reaper no more."

Under normal circumstances he'd probably kill her for her scathing words, but he is too deep in thought to care. He knows he'll be haunted for a long time to come.

Haunted by a pair of blue eyes,

and a pair of blank gray.


End file.
